


The Boy With the Ass Eater Tattoo

by crazyhomoinspace



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Closeted Character, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Oral Sex, Other, Tattoos, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:16:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyhomoinspace/pseuds/crazyhomoinspace
Summary: Shiro had spent twenty one years of his life in the closet and is finally ready to come to terms with himself. His methods may not be the healthiest, but they sure are eye-catching. He finds himself drawn to Keith at a Halloween party, and hopes he can learn from Keith's inability to care about what others have to say about him.Meanwhile, Lance finds himself sandwiched between Hunk and Pidge and has no idea of how to negotiate this new dynamic, but he sure is into it.





	1. Chapter 1

The music was deafening. The smell of weed was faint. Keith wasn’t even inside the party, but this wasn’t his first Halloween on campus. He knew that the cans of Natty Boh strewn across the perfectly manicured suburban lawn were to be expected. He was disappointed but not surprised that the Homeowner’s Association violations were starting thirty minutes after the party’s official start time.  
  
The thing that drew most of Keith’s attention was the full goddamn bar sitting out on the kitchen counter. The host was Allura, a Junior who Keith knew very little about beside the fact that she was rich as hell and more of a social butterfly than anyone had the right to be.

Still, the bar was impressive. Beer, vodka, mixers, tequila, schnapps, rum… all beside a counter loaded with food. Not caring that he hadn’t even said hello to the host yet, Keith fixed himself a rum and Coke and shoved a piece of greasy, disgustingly delicious pepperoni pizza into his mouth.

Keith quickly realized that he didn’t know anybody -  and if he did, he didn’t recognize them in their costumes. He knew that his roommates, Pidge and Hunk, were around somewhere, and they’d find him eventually. So, in the meantime, he picked a seat on a free couch, deciding that he’d people-watch until something more interesting happened.

To his surprise, the costumes ranged in complexity and creativity. Sure, some dude was dressed as a sexy nun, but there were a few well-done zombies and video game characters. One guy was wearing a flowing, iridescent teal skirt and a gold body chain, made up with bright makeup. He was flirting with a girl who didn’t seem interested-- oh.  
  
He found Allura.

The host of the party looked like she had the patience of a saint. She was holding her drink, playing idly with the pink and purple frills of her tulle skirt. She was listening to the man in the skirt talk about God-knows-what, and Keith had half a mind to defend her, but she looked like she could handle herself, and he truly did want to see what happened.

“You look happy to see me,” the guy grinned, pointing at the horn affixed on top of Allura’s head.

“Oh, Lance,” she sighed, exasperated.

“That’s not the first time you’re going to say that tonight.”

Another man rode in to defend Allura's honor, running his tongue over his fangs and flourishing his cape.

Keith didn’t get to see what happened, however. He felt something cold on his hand and jerked back.

“Ah, ah.”

Keith turned to see a cup being placed in his hand and a blur of black.

“What the--”

Oh.

The man, he was assuming, by the sheer size of the individual, handing him the drink, was dressed in a black sheet and bodysuit. There was a crude mask on his face, a plain paper plate with eyes and a mouth drawn on with black marker.

He was dressed as Noh Face from Spirited Away.

Keith found himself wanting to smile, looking away from the nerd in the morphsuit. He had been expecting to field questions about his costume all night, waving himself off as a ninja or some kind of… wolf boy. He was wearing a white faux-fur cape around his shoulders, the cord holding the front together with large, white, wooden teeth.

The guy had to have recognized him. It was statistically improbable that this human had seen Spirited Away but wouldn’t recognize a Princess Mononoke outfit.

“Ah. Ah.”

Keith looked down at the red, liquid filled cup, then brought his eyes to the mask on the man’s head.

“Wow. How kind. An open container from a guy in a mask at a Halloween party.” Keith took the rim of the cup between two fingers and set it aside.

The man sighed out a sad ‘ah…’

Keith watched in bewilderment as the morphsuit-clad individual scuttled off to the kitchen. He turned his attention back to people-watching, hoping to see the result of the battle for Allura’s honor that seemed to be happening a few feet away.

“It’s quite clear that the lady isn’t interested.”

“Let her speak for herself!”

Keith leaned forward on the couch, eyes widening as the merman laid glittery hands on the vampire and shoved.

“Ah.”

Tongue held between his molars, Keith turned quickly to face Noh-Face, ready to tell the man to go get a life and let him watch what could be the big drama of the night. But despite not seeing his face, Keith couldn’t tell his interrupter off, not when he was holding a cold beer and a bottle opener, and Keith could just about taste the hope on his face.

Keith’s shoulders sank and his lips parted. “Okay,” he agreed. The bottle top popped off between them and clinked to the floor and Keith accepted the bottle, cold and wet on his hand. Lips pursed, he blew away the tiny plume of vapor that rose from the bottle before taking a sip. It was a beer he could drink all night, light and pleasant and far weaker than the cocktail he’d poured himself.

It was creepy, how he couldn’t see this Noh-Face’s eyes, but he could feel his gaze on him as he licked his lips and brought the bottle to his side, idly circling his thumb around the rim of the bottle.

“...Who are you under there?” Keith asked suspiciously. He was too tall to be Pidge. He was too narrow to be Hunk. The morphsuit did little to hide musculature, and Keith couldn’t recall anyone in his small circle of acquaintances who were that built.

“Ah.”

Keith ran his tongue over his teeth. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh? You’re dedicated to your role.”

Turning away to take a drink, Keith paused with the bottle pressed to his lips as he felt a soft, covered hand run over his. But when he turned to his companion, he was gone.

“Dork,” Keith scoffed into his beer.

“Aw, don’t insult yourself, Keith.”

Finally, a familiar voice. With a drink in either hand, Keith’s roommate, Pidge stood before him. They were dressed comfortably in a kigurumi that was far too big on them, wisps of wild brown hair peeking out of the hood. They plopped down where the stranger had been sitting seconds ago, placing their cups on the table and leaning against the cushions of the couch.

“I’m surprised you came,” they admitted. “You were mumbling something about homework, or a paper, or something.”

Keith shrugged. “Yeah, well, I’m allowed to change my mind.”

It had been true that Keith had needed some convincing. Parties weren’t his scene. But the host, Allura, had approached him after their shared Sociology class and had asked him to come.

_  
“I know we don’t speak often,” she had said. “But I'd like to change that. Come to my party?”_

_Keith didn’t want her pity. He’d walked away without saying anything, and had tried to shove past Pidge when they had brought up the party, too. But Allura had been right. The only people he readily talked to were his roommates, and they were quickly forming a relationship that Keith wasn’t a part of._

_Transitioning into college hadn’t been easy for him. He’d lost his father when he was thirteen, and his mother was long gone. Five years in a group home hadn’t been kind, and he’d ran out of there at the first opportunity. As it would turn out, even if your grades were mediocre and you had no extracurriculars on your schedule, colleges loved taking on orphans. Again, Keith didn’t want their pity, but he did want more in his life than sneaking cigarettes behind the Chipotle he worked at through high school._

_He’d lived in the dorms for the first year, but after narrowly avoiding expulsion for nearly strangling his roommate, he’d moved in with Hunk and Pidge. It was a peaceful house and he got his own bedroom and bathroom, and nobody bothered him._  
  
_And he had realized, sitting alone at his desk, trying to drown out the sounds from the next room as Hunk and Pidge re-defined the boundaries of their relationship, that yes. He was lonely._

  
Keith didn’t realize that he’d been drinking until he sucked at the bottle of beer only to find it empty. He placed it aside with a sigh, snatching his almost-forgotten cocktail off of the table.

“Did you see what was happening with Allura?” Keith asked, desperately wanting to shift the attention off of himself. “It looked like a fight was going to break out.”

Pidge snorted. “Yeah. Lance thought he could come for Lotor’s girl. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it. Lance ran off with his tail between his legs.”

Keith looked around. “What?”

“Oh, yeah. Lotor shoved him against a wall and everything. You didn’t see it?”

Huh. He must have been more distracted by Mr. Tall, Built, and Morphsuited than he’d realized.

“Speaking of…” Pidge rose from where they sat, wiping their glasses on the white tummy of their kigurumi, flippers flailing as they plucked their drinks from the table. “I should go check on Lance. He’s a good guy, just… dumb and horny on main aren’t a great combination.”

Keith waved them off and leaned back. He barely had time to bring his cup to his lips before a plate of food appeared in front of his face.

“Ah, ah!”

Keith couldn’t help it. He smirked, carefully taking the plate with one hand. It was a healthy assortment of snacks-- pretzels, potato chips, a few slices of cheese, and a small pile of fruit.

“You know, taking shit from Noh-Face didn’t work out too well in the movie.”

The only response Keith got was an incredulous “Ah!” as the man picked up a pretzel and offered it to him. Keith leaned forward and took it with his teeth, grinning triumphantly as the stranger’s hand wavered in front of his face for a moment before recoiling, and he shuffled, flat-footed and holding his hands to his cheeks, back into the kitchen.

It was going to be a fun night.

* * *

 

“Hunk. Have you seen Lance?”

Hunk turned as Pidge spoke, pausing his conversation with a random girl dressed as a butterfly.

“Not since Lotor laid the smackdown on him. Why, what’s up?”

Pidge shrugged. “Oh, nothing, really. I just feel kinda bad for him. I wanted to make sure he had a drink,” they shrugged, looking down at the spare cup in their hand. “Keith didn’t see him, so I wanted to ask you.”

“Keith’s here? Wow, who’da thunk?” Hunk shrugged. “Uh… no. But I think you’re right. That was a pretty harsh takedown. I think his soul left his body. Who knew Lotor was so strong?”

Pidge shook their head. “Who knew Lance was so dumb?”

Hunk hummed, taking the half-empty cup that Pidge was holding and taking a sip. “It’s probably not as dumb as you think. It’s a power move, y’know? He’d probably pregamed, got nice and loose, and told the girl he liked that he liked her. Maybe he didn’t go about it the right way, but he still tried.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“C’mon. Let’s go find him.”

Hunk took one of the cups out of Pidge’s hand and took the opportunity to hold their hand. It was only partly an affectionate gesture-- Pidge was small, and even dressed in a bright blue onesie, they’d disappear into the crowd quickly. Hunk couldn’t help but smile as he looked down at their hands, and maybe it was the alcohol, but he was fascinated by how delicate and pale Pidge’s hand looked against his dark skin and wide palm.

“Found him!”

Pidge pulled Hunk into a corner, where Lance was curled up and pouting, nursing a beer along with his bruised ego.

“Hey, buddy,” Hunk greeted gently. “Mind if we join you?”

Lance shrugged, and Pidge and Hunk flanked him.

“You know,” Lance began, “You really missed the opportunity to be Pirate Pidge and Sunk-- Seal Hunk.”

Hunk blinked. “Lance,” he said sweetly, ready to reach for the beer. “How many beers is that?”

“Just one,” Lance sighed. “But I took a few hits off of Rolo’s joint.”

“Yeah, you did.” Pidge pat Lance’s shoulder. “...You wanna talk about what happened?”

Lance huffed. “No.”

Pidge looked at Hunk and opened their mouth to respond, but Lance cut them off.

“It’s just that I’ve liked her for so long! We went to high school together! Fate brought us to the same college, and for what? For some rich snob to come in and swoop her off of her feet?”

Hunk rubbed Lance’s back. “It’s rough, but that’s not really how it works, buddy. She can make her own decisions. And besides, she’s not the only girl in the world. You know, I had the biggest crush on this girl, Shay, in high school. It wasn’t meant to be, but… if I had gotten with her, I wouldn’t have gotten with Pidge.”

“I guess.” Lance propped himself on his elbows, supported by his knees. “I can’t imagine myself with anyone but Allura.”

Hunk shook his head. “C’mon. I know what’ll cheer you up. Wanna dance with me and Pidge?”

Pidge shook their head. “Oh, no. I’m not dancing.”

Hunk leaned over Lance to bring Pidge’s cup to their mouth and tilted the cup to make them drink. “Oh, yes you are.”

* * *

 

Keith was enjoying himself in a way he didn’t anticipate. He and Noh-Face had fallen into a game of sorts. He would bring Keith gifts— alcohol, food, even a joint. Keith would accept the gift, and Noh-Face would scuttle away. Sure, Keith had gotten up to mingle, but he’d found himself looking over his shoulder to find the anonymous nerd who was far too invested in his Halloween costume.

What did he look like? Was he handsome? Not that it mattered— Keith found himself wanting to unzip the suit and kiss that stupid man senseless regardless. But his fate would be sealed if he was hot. He didn’t necessarily want to leave the party alone if he could help it.

But as charming as the guy was, he was equally infuriating. Holding a bottle of cold water that he had just been given, he tugged on the loose end of the sheet as the mystery man tried to disappear.

“Talk to me,” he slurred with a pout. “C’mon, I get it. You’re cute. Drop the act,” he urged.

Gently, with the finesse of someone who was stone cold sober, the man pried Keith’s hand off of his sheet and pat the top of his head.

“Ah.”

The music grew slow and languid, and Keith’s movements matched. He was ready to call it a night, but his alcohol-dizzy brain was still consumed with the determination to find out who had been playing with him all night long. But sleep was running to the foreground of his thoughts, and it wouldn’t be long until it took over.

“Keith.”

Hunk sounded pitiful. He was supporting two people— one arm around Lance’s waist, the other around Pidge’s torso.

“I need help getting them home.”

Keith took in the sight ahead of him. Pidge didn’t look like they were actually conscious, head slumped forward and steps tiny and uncoordinated. Lance seemed to be in a similar state, head lolled back on Hunk’s shoulder and arms limp at his sides. Hunk didn’t look like he’d gone too hard, but there were bags under his eyes and it was going to be hard for him to herd two drunken toddlers down the street.

“Lance lives across town,” Keith pointed out. “Are we really going to put him in an Uber like this?”

“Nah,” Hunk shrugged. “He’ll ruin the upholstery. Are you okay with him crashing with us?”

“Not like I really have a choice.”

Hunk kept hold of Lance while Keith took custody of Pidge. They stumbled into his hold and groaned, burying their face into his side.

“C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”

The thought of bed seemed to perk the drunks up, and they made it out the door with little fuss. Keith found himself looking back, though, looking desperately for that sweet man with the sweet muscles in the dumbass costume that had kept him company all night. He wanted to say goodbye, and maybe see his face. And maybe, if the universe was particularly kind, they’d exchange phone numbers and make plans to see each other again without the costumes.

But as he marched out, Pidge to his front and Hunk to his back, he was nowhere to be found.

“I didn’t even get to dance with him,” he said softly, gaze cast downward as Pidge slowly negotiated the stoop.

“What was that?” Hunk asked, having to lift Lance into his arms.

Keith gave a resigned sigh. “Don’t worry about it.”

* * *

 

Shiro spent a moment staring at himself in Allura’s bathroom mirror. He’d unzipped the top of his morphsuit to let fall to the back of his neck and had discarded his mask. The sheet he’d worn all day was tied around his waist. His short, undercut white hair was in every imaginable direction, and he’d given up trying to calm the static from the Lycra.

“You can do this, Shiro,” he breathed, nodding to himself as he reached for the door handle.

He hadn’t meant to spend all night with that guy in the Mononoke outfit, let alone be so goddamn weird about it. It was cute the first time-- playfully mimicking the character he’d been dressed as to charm someone who would surely know the source material. But every time he opened his mouth to speak, to interact, to say _something_ intelligent to the attractive nerd sitting across the way, he froze. The anonymity of the costume was comforting, and it was difficult to want to expose himself.

But he was going to do it. The sun was starting to glow on the horizon. Their time was almost up. There was no way Shiro was going to let him slip away.

But as he stepped out and looked through the remaining guests, he’d realized that he was too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's hungover, there's glitter everywhere, and the missed connections just won't stop.

Routine stopped for nobody, even those haunted by the previous night’s mistakes. Shiro had finally climbed into bed around six in the morning, but his forgotten alarm sounded at nine. It wasn’t like it had been interrupting anything. He’d closed the door to his bedroom, struggled out of what remained of his costume, and had curled up in the middle of his bed. Sleep didn’t happen. How could he rest, knowing that he’d just fucked up what felt like his only chance at love?

Okay, that was dramatic. It was for the best. If he couldn’t even handle revealing his identity to this boy, how was he supposed to ask him out? Talk to him?

Shiro snoozed his alarm and let himself drift off. He woke a few short hours later, thirsty and eyes burning with exhaustion. But his roommate was up, grinding coffee and dancing on the hardwood, and it was going to be impossible to fall back asleep. So he threw on a shirt and a pair of lounge pants and blinked into the daylight shining into the hallway and prayed that Matt had made enough coffee for the two of them.

“ _Two hundred degrees, that’s why they call me Mr. Fahrenheit. I’m traveling at the--_ Shiro!”

Matt had jerked when he saw him, sending coffee grounds across the counter. Shiro chuckled, grabbing some creamer out of the fridge and setting it out.

“Oh, is that a hint?” Matt deadpanned, scooping more grounds out of the grinder and dropping them into the French press. “Hand me that kettle, will you? Oh, how was the party?”

Shiro shrugged, lifting the electric kettle off of its base with a little click, and poured water into the press. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Matt’s eyebrows went up. “I heard it was more than fine. Nyma said you were getting real cozy with some underclassman,” he winked and tried to jab Shiro with his elbow. 

Shiro ducked out of the assault easily, side-stepping Matt in favor of taking a slightly-too-ripe banana off of the counter. He peeled it and took a bite, shaking his head at his roommate.

“Is he here?”

Shiro looked around. “Who?”

“The boy from the party!” Matt peeked toward Shiro’s bedroom, and Shiro stepped in front of him. 

“No. Why do you care..?”

Matt shrugged, tightening the bun that sat low on his neck. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he said calmly. “I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you,” Shiro grumbled. 

Matt bit his lip. “But-- you got his number, right? Or added him on Facebook?”

Shiro groaned in irritation, snapping the lid to the French press onto the body and slamming the plunger down as quickly as he could. 

“That’s a no,” Matt muttered. “...I’m sorry, buddy.”

Shiro’s jaw clenched as he fixed his cup of coffee. Matt seemed to get the hint and he backed off, taking his turn with the coffee once Shiro was done and heading back to his room.

“Oh! Shiro.”

Shiro turned, mug to his lips. 

Matt shifted awkwardly, holding his mug in two hands and looking away. “Uh. Adam’s coming over today. He… asked me to take a look at his laptop. Are you okay with that?”

Shiro felt ice in the pit of his stomach. He exhaled slowly. “I’ll make myself scarce.” 

Matt shook his head. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I can tell him to drop it off--”

“Matt. It’s fine. I have things I need to do today anyway. I’m not going to deny you a friend just because he and I have a past.” 

Shiro neutralized Matt’s ability to argue by retreating into his room, wanting to he alone with his coffee and banana. He finished his breakfast in silence, seated hunched at his computer desk. The weekend had just started, and already couldn’t get any fucking worse. 

Once his banana peel was in the garbage and the mug was forgotten on his desk, Shiro decided that getting the hell out of the apartment was his first priority. So he quietly made his way to the bathroom, dropping a clean outfit on the top of the closed toilet lid. He stripped down and took a look at himself in the mirror while the shower took its time heating up.

In part, he’d picked the costume that he had to prevent people from staring. They always stared. Shiro was twenty one years old, and his hair was undeniably white. He had muscle mass that would make any action movie star jealous. 

He also didn’t have a right arm.

Well, that was a half-truth. He did have an arm, but it was a prosthesis. It was high-tech and moved fluidly, but drew a lot of attention. 

It had been so nice to let all of that melt away, if even for a night.

* * *

 

In that moment, Lance was sure of two things. The first, was that he had a headache. The second was that there had to be glitter  _ everywhere. _

Opening his eyes had taken a goddamn act of congress. He blinked his right eye open first-- he was rolled onto his left side-- and was greeted by a tangle of reddish-brown hair.

“Wha..?” he slurred, finally becoming aware of his body. His hand was resting on a tiny waist, and that was definitely skin, not a shirt under his fingertips. But that wasn’t all. There was a soft, warm body pressed to his back. Again, he felt bare skin against his back.

What the hell had happened that night? 

“Mmm.” The body in front of Lance grumbled and turned, hiding their face into his chest. “Who turned on the pain?”

He knew that voice. That was Pidge’s voice. 

Wait. 

Did he fuck Pidge?

He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the slight scratch of their sports bra against his chest. They weren’t naked, at least. And Hunk was there.

Oh. 

Did he fuck Hunk?

Pidge seemed to have realized that Lance had woken up, and was slowly untangling their limbs and disengaging from the other human body. Lance found himself missing their warmth as they swung their legs over the edge of the bed and sat still for a moment before running off to the en-suite bathroom. 

In order to prevent himself from sympathetic puking, Lance used the space on the bed vacated by Pidge to roll onto his back and cover his light-sensitive eyes. His movement seemed to stir Hunk, who stole the majority of the blankets to cover his head.

“Where’s Pidge?”

“Puking,” Lance responded. “What happened last night?”

Hunk stayed buried under the blanket, voice muffled. “You were riding the Hot Mess Express so we took you home with us. You passed out in the middle of the bed so we just kind of filled in the spaces around you.”

Pidge returned, looking like death in a white sports bra and boxers. They staggered over to Hunk and buried their face into his chest. “Why are you two yelling?” 

Hunk smiled and pet Pidge’s hair, then looked at Lance. “You want to shower off the glitter while I cook breakfast?”

Lance looked at the bedspread. There was glitter everywhere. It was on the sheets, the blanket, Pidge’s underwear, Hunk’s chest… he’d left his permanent mark on their house.

“I’m sorry.”

Hunk waved it off. “Don’t worry about it. Uh… here.” He got up slowly, ignoring Pidge’s whining, and dug clothes out of the dresser. “This shirt’s tight on me and these pants are really big on Pidge. Should fit fine.”

As Lance turned on the water and closed the door to the shower, he braced himself against the wall and tried to remember what had happened that night. He remembered feeling sad. He remembered Pidge and Hunk trying to cheer him up. He remembered… passing a joint between the three of them while they ground on one another on the dance floor. 

He stepped out feeling much better than he had when he woke up, and followed the smell of bacon to the kitchen. He found Hunk at work, cooking up a storm while Pidge tried to make the coffee maker work.

“My brain needs its fast juice,” Pidge whined, trying to open a package of coffee filters. They were just about to give up and throw the whole damn thing into the machine, plastic and all, when Lance realized what was happening and stepped in. 

Lance opened the packaging and licked his finger and thumb, gently separating a coffee filter from its peers and placing it in the machine. He dropped in a few spoonfuls of coffee while Pidge poured water into the reservoir. They replaced the carafe and Lance hit the ‘START’ button.

“Lance, can you grab the eggs for me?” Hunk called. 

While Pidge stared longingly at the coffee pot while it produced sweet, sweet caffeine, Lance stepped deeper into the kitchen, taking a spatula from Hunk and gently flipping each of the eggs onto their yolks.

“We make a pretty good team,” Hunk praised, smashing up some avocado in a bowl. 

Lange grinned. “I guess we do.” 

Meanwhile, the coffee had finished brewing and Pidge had taken it upon themself to drink it boiling hot and black straight from the carafe.

“Pidge,” Hunk whined, hands up in protest. “That coffee’s for everyone.”

Pidge grumbled and pointed to two mugs of black coffee they’d set aside. “I saved you some,” they shrugged and resumed sipping from the carafe. “Ah, hot.”

* * *

 

Keith rolled from his bed without knowing how he’d gotten there. He’d been so tired that, as soon as he’d made sure that they hadn’t left anyone at the party, he had retreated into his room, got out of costume, and made himself one with his bed. He didn’t wake until the terrible sounds of enjoyment filtered in from the kitchen, and he couldn’t help the slight preoccupation with murder that his mind immediately fixated on.

He sat up and looked into the mirror above his dresser. His face looked like a crime scene, red paint smeared out of its previous triangular shape and into vague red blobs. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and he looked just about as put-together as he felt. After rolling away from his own reflection, he reached for the Excedrin he kept in his nightstand and took two, not bothering with water.

As soon as the medication was on board, he slipped off his boxers and threw them carelessly on the floor. He closed the door to his en-suite bathroom behind him and turned the water on as hot as it would go and hissed in relief, rolling his head and letting the spray beat down on his back.

He wondered how that guy-- Noh-Face was doing. He was sad that he didn’t reveal his identity. Keith was worth the constant attention, but he wasn’t worth a name? A face? Nothing but alcohol, then snacks and water when the alcohol started making him dizzy? The attention had felt so good but had come on the back of anonymity. Keith really couldn’t figure it out, but if he ever saw that guy again, he was going to punch him in the face.

Towel around his waist, he brushed his damp hair into a ponytail and tossed the towel onto the floor before he stepped into a pair of jeans. He picked a black shirt out of the ‘clean’ pile on the floor and topped it with the purple and black plaid button-down he’d left hanging on his bedpost. 

Keith hoped, grabbing his bag from where it lay by the door, that he could sneak out unnoticed. But he should have known that wasn’t a possibility. 

He was greeted by Pidge, sitting on the counter in their underwear, legs crossed, drinking awkwardly out of the coffee carafe. Hunk waved from the kitchen, where he and Lance seemed to be bonding over guacamole.

“Hey, Keith! Want some coffee?” Pidge offered, holding out their pot.

Keith paused where he stood. He contemplated his options in his head before he hiked his bookbag up on his shoulder and promptly took off toward the door.

“I’m not staying for this,” he breathed, taking his keys off of the hook and clipping them to his belt loop. “Absofuckinglutely not.”

He cut off whatever protest the others might have had by shutting the door. He had been hoping to grab a protein bar or something before he left, but that plan had been thrown out.

 

If Keith ever had the opportunity to bitch to the city planners, it would be about the availability of decent coffee in the city. But what had attracted him to living with Pidge and Hunk was the proximity of the house to the only non-Starbucks coffee-serving establishment in town. It was quiet and had free WiFi, and would be a good place to mess around on his tablet and ride out the occupation of his home. 

The line was short, and Keith didn’t have to wait at all for his chocolate and almond croissant and the white chocolate mocha he’d ordered to go with it. Since it was slow, the kind barista brought his order to his table, and the hearts she’d drawn with the foam of the latte made him feel a little bad for drinking it. 

He hadn’t even finished booting up his iPad before a shadow was cast over his table. Keith didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“What are you doing here? I thought you failed out.”

Keith rolled his eyes, pulling the pen out of his tablet. “Go eat a dick, James.”

James scoffed, tossing his fringe out of his eyes. Keith grit his teeth. Of all of the stupid habits to have, that was the most goddamn pretentious, and James had to know that. 

“Huh. I thought you were the dick sucker in this conversation. But wearing that shirt, you sure as shit look like a lesbian.”

Keith held James’ gaze for all of five seconds before breaking eye contact. 

“Some people just peak in high school, I guess.” 

James took a quick step toward him and Keith’s head whipped around, ready to punch James in the gut if need be. But he decided that no, this wasn’t going to be how he spent his day. So he kept his head down and packed up his belongings, ignoring James’ parting jeers as he marched out of the coffee shop.

There were intruders in his home, and the cafe wasn’t safe, either. He wasn’t going to find peace that day. 

“Watch it,” he hissed, shoving past the white-haired man with the scar on his nose standing awkwardly in the doorway.

* * *

 

It had happened again, and Shiro couldn’t believe it. He’d been paying no attention to his surroundings, wandering into the coffee shop with dark roast on his mind and that cute boy from the party weighing down his heart.

He’d heard the commotion from across the cafe and looked up in time to see a very familiar face trying to hide himself in his iPad. His scowl was fierce and his lip was raised in annoyance, but Shiro recognized him immediately. How could he forget those eyes?

He needed to say something, he decided, hearing the venom in the stranger’s voice. But what would he say? He didn’t want to draw attention, didn’t want anyone to question why he’d come to his defense.

He was frozen.

Shiro didn’t snap back to reality until he felt their shoulders brush, and he stepped out of his way on pure instinct.

Way to wang it, Shirogane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for reading!! i'm riding the post-s7 wave, so prepare for some pretty fast updates!

**Author's Note:**

> this concept brought to you by an actual tattoo found by @theinsanefox. i wish i were kidding.
> 
> thanks to the stupid idiots and the club for crappy jerks for listening to me screm about this, especially @softieghost and @voxane!
> 
> if you liked it, please drop me a kudos and a comment!
> 
> on tumblr @crazyhomoinspace


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